A/N: Another fairly short one, but quicker. Readership seems to have fallen off dramatically, in general, the past few months, but not to worry, my faithful few. As long as you want to read my stories, I'll keep writing them. Actually, I'll probably keep writing them even if I go back to be being the only one reading them...that's how I got started! The next chapter will probably be longer, and arrive sometime next week, depending on how long it takes me to finish up the loose ends I have dangling.

The Adventures of Theodred, Son of Eomer

Chapter 10 (begins late Nov, 44 IV)

Because of Theodred's unique situation, he usually had his pick of relatives to stay with in Minas Tirith. Through his mother's family, there was the Dol Amroth townhouse to make use of, though he was less inclined to do so now that his grandfather had passed on and his Uncle Elphir was the ruling Prince. He liked Uncle Elphir, but his stiffer manner was not nearly so inviting and Theodred felt himself more an imposition if he made too frequent visits there, or stayed too long.

However, through his father, and his mother as well, he was connected to the Steward of Gondor, and they were always most accommodating both in Minas Tirith and Emyn Arnen whenever he chose to put in appearance. That was generally where he took up abode, and did so on this trip. His third option, only used on rare occasions when he was absolutely desperate, was to fall back on his brother's marital tie to the royal family of Gondor. King Elessar and Queen Arwen were equally as hospitable and inviting as the Steward, but he did not think it wise to make use of that connection too often. Even so, Elessar would not allow his visits to the city to go unnoticed and made certain he received numerous invitations to stop by for talks, attend gatherings and so forth, generally making certain he felt welcome and very much a part of the extended family.

Even when the Steward and his family were to be found in Emyn Arnen, a half day's journey from the city, they had made it clear to Theodred that he was to make their Minas Tirith home his own whenever he chose to do so, particularly in light of his recent traveling. He was both relieved and sorry that they were not in residence when the pair arrived this time. To some extent, he was hoping to talk to Faramir about all that had happened with Arawine and Kata, hoping to clear his mind and sort his thoughts, but in another sense, he rather suspected he already could guess what conclusions his uncle would reach, and that they would largely mirror those his mother had expressed.

Though the pair knew that no one would object to their having separate rooms and indulging in making full use of the servants and the facilities of the Steward's residence, neither wished to impose to that great an extent. Already grateful that they were so readily accommodated, they shared a room and kept their impact on the household to a minimum. Still, both fully appreciated warm, clean beds, roaring fires, and available hot baths whenever they wished, not to mention excellent food, well prepared, by someone else. They were used to simple fare for breakfast and dinner, and had finally persuaded the cook to allow them to keep to that regimen for the most part. Only if they dined in of an evening did they give in to fancier fare, though they sometimes made it a point to eat at an inn or accept invitations to feast with friends.

Within a week of their arrival, November was drawing to a close and Faramir's family arrived from Emyn Arnen, surprised but pleased to find them there.

Though Faramir was eager to hear of Theodred's most recent travels, he soon realized something more was at work than before, and that his nephew was not so wild to share his adventures this time around. Rather than press, Faramir allowed the young man to broach the subject in his own good time, and eventually Theodred did explain the culmination of his trip and the unpleasantness ever since his discovery in Dale. The Steward did not need to be told that the matter had been left unresolved, both between the two young men and within Theodred's own heart and mind, yet he did not feel he could give him any easy answers. There were choices and decisions that only Theodred could make, and then actions only he could take. While Faramir, and likely the rest of the family, would do all they could to facilitate peace being restored, in the end only Arawine and Theodred could settle this matter.

To some extent, Freahelm was not totally clear what his role was now. When Theodred had been intent on traveling, he was to go as a companion, if for no other reason than safety, but once they had reached Mundburg, and it was clear they would likely stay there through the winter months, Freahelm had no fixed purpose. True, King Eomer had never officially released him from service in the army, and unofficially he was specifically attached to Theodred as a bodyguard. Presumably that was yet the case, even if they were not traveling and danger was minimized for the time being. Still, he would need to find something to occupy his time while they were in the city or he would surely become fat and lazy, and go quite mad. Theodred would attempt to engage him in his new interest of collecting tales and making an historical record, and he would good-naturedly allow it, but he could not see it becoming an all-consuming passion with him as it was rapidly becoming with his friend. At least Minas Tirith offered year-round pursuits of entertainment, and their several recent visits had acquainted him with the city and many of the soldiers who served here. He supposed he could keep from being too bored.

Early in December, he and Theodred ventured out into the city. Theodred was in search of better writing materials for his project, and though Freahelm couldn't be of much help to him in that respect, he thought to stretch his legs. When they found a sizable and respectable looking stationers shop on the fourth level, Freahelm left Theodred at the door and wandered off down the street, agreeing to return shortly.

Moments later, his nose led him into an out-of-the-way shop, and he eased into its warmth, inhaling appreciatively the delightful fragrance.

In the back, Gimilzor sighed and nudged his daughter, Belwen. "Ai! Another customer! This morning is frantic! Will you see to it, dearest? I must get these breads started."

She smiled indulgently at him, and nodded. "Yes, Papa!", she answered, as she hurried to the front.

The young man turned toward her grinning, and asked, "What is that divine smell?" He had a look of rapture on his face, and she could not restrain a laugh at his expression.

Moving toward him, she took a sniff to determine what precisely he might be smelling and her eyes lit up. "Ah, the cinnamon rolls. They should just about be done." Quickly she moved over to the ovens and peeked inside, then satisfied with what she saw, lowered the door away and carefully removed the tray of fresh, hot rolls. Now the smell filled the shop and Freahelm was nearly overcome. Eagerly he came toward her and reached for one, but she was able to snatch the tray away, and set it on a counter where he could not get close. "Sir! They are not ready! And they are much too hot to eat yet!"

Practically dancing in place, Freahelm waited impatiently as she began mixing a glaze for the rolls. Since they needed to cool a little longer before she could add it, she turned to him and asked, "Is there anything else I may get you while you wait?"

Without thinking, he reached his hand toward her to brush some flour from her cheek, and her eyes widened in alarm as she hastily stepped back from him. His hand hung in the air as he blushed red. "I am sorry. I did not mean to be so forward. You have some flour – there, on your cheek. I was just going to…"

Quickly she grabbed a towel and scrubbed at her face in embarrassment, and when she looked up he grinned reassuringly. "That got it." There was an awkward silence for several moments, so he moved away, looking in the display windows at the goods, but nothing appealed to him quite like those enticing rolls that he could still smell, and that were making his mouth water and his stomach rumble. Wandering back toward her, he asked, "How much are the rolls?"

When she quoted him a price, he fished in his pocket to count the coins there and then slapped them on the counter. "That should get me six!"

"Six!" she exclaimed in astonishment. "But you have not even tried one yet! How do you know you will even like them?"

He grinned disarmingly. "Nothing that smells that wonderful could possibly taste bad! Do you make them every day?"

She nodded slowly and he shook his head in dismay. " 'Tis a pity!"

"Why?" she asked cautiously.

"I do believe I had best find some sort of work so I can afford to come here every day to stock up – and to work off what I eat!" He rubbed his stomach thoughtfully. "I am thinking some hard physical labor might be in order. Perhaps they can use me in the stables!"

In spite of herself, Belwen laughed. She had never met a man quite like this one before.

"Belwen?" Her father came from the back to see what was taking so long.

"Oh, Father. I was just waiting for the rolls to cool so I could glaze them. This young man wishes to buy several of them."

"Oh. Very well then. Carry on."

Her father gave the two of them a curious look and returned to the back of the shop, and Belwen turned to the glazing. As she did, Freahelm noticed her blond hair tucked under her cap and eyed it curiously. Blond hair was certainly a rarity in Gondor, except among visitors.

"How do you come by your blond hair, if you do not mind my asking?" he queried, leaning on the counter. "I rarely see that in Gondor, unless I bring it with me!"

Knowing he was watching her work made her self-conscious, but she tried to ignore it as she explained, "My mother was born in Rohan. After the war, she came to Gondor looking for work and met my father. I inherited my hair coloring from her. I am the only one to get it. My sister's hair is dark like Father's."

He watched her drizzle glaze for a moment, then his eyes fell on a vase of flowers perched on the counter. But as he looked closer, he realized they were flowers made of paper that had been folded. Moving closer, he began to examine them. They were so exquisitely done, that when he had first come in, he had not even noticed that they were not real, despite the fact that they should have been out of season. There were several different kinds, some of which he did not recognize, but those he did were almost perfectly rendered and he could not find any complaint with them. Theomund would be interested in these…

He looked up to find her watching him and asked, "Where did these come from? They are incredible!"

Blushing, she confessed, "I…made them. It can be difficult to keep fresh flowers in the shop with the warmth of the ovens, and I enjoy working with paper."

"Well, they are perfectly marvelous! Now, are those rolls ready yet? I cannot wait much longer!" He gave her his most pleading look and she burst out laughing.

"Yes, they are ready! Do you want to take any of them with you, or do you intend to eat them all here?"

"I have not yet decided. I will start eating and let you know when I am ready to leave," Freahelm answered eagerly moving toward her.

xx

Theodred's excursion into town was not proving quite so agreeable as Freahelm's was.

"What is the problem, Elbragol?" a soft voice asked, and both men looked up.

For a moment, Theodred was thrown off his guard. The woman standing before him was not the sort one expected to find 'clerking' in a shop. Then, as she moved toward them, her hobbled gait drew his gaze and he could guess why she was here. Forcing his eyes elsewhere so as not to embarrass her, he interrupted the clerk who was telling her of Theodred's complaint. "Do not misunderstand, Mistress. I am not trying to be difficult."

Before he could continue, she told him, "Sir, this shop has been in existence for over forty years. My brother runs it now, but my father ran it before him. Indeed, it is considered one of the finest stationers in all of Gondor."

Theodred nodded his agreement. "I would not dispute that! I am Theodred of Rohan, and I have been in many such shops. I would venture to say that it may well be that your shop is one of the finest in all of Middle-earth, but that does not change the fact that I do not seem able to communicate to your clerk what I am seeking. I am in need of specific papers. I am not looking for mere writing papers to send letters upon. I need something more substantial that will last the ages for I am compiling an historical work. Surely a stationer of your renown can meet my need more readily than any other."

She eyed him a moment, and he got the impression she was assessing his sincerity and character. Apparently satisfied with whatever conclusion she reached, she stepped behind a counter and stooped down. A moment later, she lifted a box onto the counter and opened it. "This is the paper we produce especially for the archives of the City. I believe it will meet with your approval."

The clerk stepped forward with concern. "But, Mistress! We cannot let him have–"

She cut him off. "I will take responsibility for it, Elbragol. There is time to replace what we sell to him, and in the future we can make it a practice to stock a bit extra for customers other than the archives who may wish to purchase it."

Stepping back respectfully, the man gave a brief bow and nodded. "Yes, Mistress."

Theodred was examining the paper, and found it was exactly what he had had in mind. "May I have the entire box, or will that present a problem?" he inquired. "I could come back if you need time to produce more for me. A dozen sheets will suffice for now."

She pushed the box toward him, saying, "You may have the box. The archives do not go through it that quickly, and we will be able to replace it before they ever realize they were somewhat short. Do you have any idea what your future need might be so we may have some idea how to plan production?"

"I will reflect on the matter and return with some sort of estimate for you, and I thank you for your consideration."

xx

"Where have you been for the past half hour?" Theodred queried raising an eyebrow and scuffing his gloved hands together to generate some warmth.

"At the bakery," Freahelm responded mildly, as he turned toward the upper levels and fell in beside his friend.

"The bakery? All that time? Doing what?" Theodred asked incredulously.

"Acquainting myself with their history. It is truly quite a fascinating place."

"Indeed! And does this place have a name?" Theodred questioned with knowing amusement.

Innocently his friend answered, "It is owned by Gimilzor, but I spoke with his daughter, Belwen."

"Ah, Belwen. And might I assume that the young lady is rather lovely, and possibly more of an attraction than the bakery itself?"

"She is certainly not unappealing, but you are much too suspicious, my friend. I have only been about your business. Did you not enjoin me to collect such stories? I was just doing as you instructed."

Theodred cut loose with a hearty laugh, and Freahelm barely restrained a grin in response. "How commendable! And will you be so accommodating when it is a gnarly, disagreeable, old man I wish you to interview?"

Shaking his head in mock dismay, Freahelm said, "I fear such would best be left to your greater skill at extracting detail and nuance, my friend. I would not dream of presuming myself on the level of the master!"

Tears now formed in Theodred's eyes he was laughing so hard. "Well, you are certainly the master of something, that much is clear!"

TBC

6-16-06

Elbragol - "sudden star"

Gimilzor – "man of stars"

Belwen – "strong maiden"